


Leap of Faith

by purgatorymaybe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Teen & Up for swearing, i guess??, if i can ever finish my other wips, might fuck around and write more later, sorry i cut the ending a bit short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purgatorymaybe/pseuds/purgatorymaybe
Summary: based on New Years three years ago when I told my (now) girlfriend that I was in love with her for the first time. For some reason I put G in my shoes even though I’m writing from Sid’s perspective.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> *geno was traded to the CBJ October 29th. (I’m so sorry) ((it’s the team with the closest distance that me and my gf had at the time so uhhh at least it’s not the flyers I guess??))
> 
> **i have. No idea who played who December 31, 2015 so we’re pretending that the pens won at home to uhhh the rangers and cbj won at home to uhhh the devils (both games/outcomes that actually happened this month)

Sid is half-listening to Flower regaling the rookies with a (probably exaggerated) story of a couple pranks from last season when he feels his phone vibrate with a text. He doesn’t check it; it’s probably just his parents wishing him an early happy new year, and he knows he’s probably being rude by not answering back but he doesn’t want to see the last text he sent, back at the end of October, be sitting unanswered.

His phone vibrates once, twice, three times more, and he sighs through his nose; he pulls his phone out, and, after glancing at the preview box, promptly presses the lock button. He can feel his face heating up, his heart jackrabbiting, making the blood in his head rush louder.

Sid opens the home screen again. They’re all still there. All four texts. From Geno. Geno, who, was one of his best friends. Geno, who was traded out of the fucking blue two months ago to fucking Columbus, of all places, for three 2016 draft picks and a rookie that, no matter how much Sid clicks with on his wing, will probably always be a little bitter and short towards. Geno, who hasn’t texted back since he left. Geno, who Sid’s been in love with for the past year, maybe (definitely) longer.

He almost doesn’t open the texts out of spite, but it’s Geno, and Sid has been missing him like hell even though they’re only three hours apart. Even though they’re in the same fucking conference and have played each other a couple times since-

And wasn’t that a fucking punch to the diaphragm, having to play against Geno. Having to watch that damn tribute video and hear the fucking crowd riot to have him back at home, but in the wrong fucking jersey, on the wrong fucking side of the ice, and not even fucking looking at Sid, not even at the goddamn faceoff dot, and-

Sid nearly drops his phone when it vibrates again, but this time it’s not just the once, it’s- it’s a fucking phone call, and Sid barely remembers to tap Flower’s arm and nod to the backyard of- whoever’s house this is, and he presses accept right before it’s about to go to voicemail.

”Sid!”

And oh god, Sid didn’t realize how much he missed Geno’s fucking voice. He closes the porch door behind him and nearly collapses against the railing.

“Hey G,” he says, his throat closing up. “What- why’d you-“

_“Why did you leave”_

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

_“Why haven’t you texted me back”_

_“Why won’t you look at me on the ice”_

_“Why did you leave_ me”

Geno clears his throat. “Saw your game highlights,” he says awkwardly. “See your goals.”

Sid hangs his head, gripping the railing too tight. “Don’t- don’t do this,” he says- pleads.

“Sid?” And Geno sounds so small over the phone. Sidney closes his eyes, tears stinging in the cold, so easily picturing G’s shoulders slumping inward.

“I know you didn’t call me to talk about the game.” Sid straightens up, hearing the door open, then close, behind him. “So, please, just cut to fucking chase.”

And it’s Vero, sidling up next to him on the porch, taking his hand.

And it’s Geno, in his ear, taking a deep breath, the exhale a burst of static.

And it’s three words Sid almost doesn’t recognize, because they’re in a language he struggled to teach himself up until two months ago, when the reason he started in the first place never texted him back.

“What?” Sid gasps, his knees bucking, barely feeling Vero lead him to a heated porch swing.

“I love you,” Geno repeats, in English this time, slowly. Like he’s practiced saying these words before. Sid slumps over, his elbows on his knees, Vero’s hand rubbing circles into his back.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “What the fuck, Geno?”

“Loved you a long time, Sid,” Geno says softly. “Wanted you to know. Didn’t want to lie anymore.”

“And you had to choose now to say it?” Sid snaps. “You left two months ago, you don’t talk to me, don’t even look at me, and you choose now to tell me that you’re in love me?” Vero inhales sharply, her fingers digging in to Sid’s back.

He reaches out blindly and grabs her knee, squeezing gently. She moves her hand up to run her fingers through his hair.

“Sid, I’m so sorry, know is bad timing-“

“It’s the fucking worst timing, Geno, and you know it.” Sid breathes out raggedly. “If you had told me before you left, or even right after, I would have- we could have made it work. It might have been worth it.”

“Sid, you-“ Geno inhales when Sid’s wording hits him. “Might? Not-“

“I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore, G.” Sid had to blink away the tears that come with the wounded noise that rips out of Geno’s chest.

“Sid-“

“I have to go,” Sid says quickly, his throat closing up again. “I have to- goodbye, Geno.”

“Sid, please-“

Sidney ends the call and turns to cry into Vero’s shoulder.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where fic no longer imitates life

Sidney doesn’t know how long he stays out on the porch with Vero. His ass is numb, but that’s probably just from how cold it is outside. He’s stopped crying, at least, although now he just feels like- like the tears sapped all of his feelings, and now he’s just a raw, empty husk.

“Do you want to go back inside,” Vero says quietly. “Or do you want me to sneak you around to the front?”

Sid almost smiles; he’s going to have to think of something big to thank Vero with. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I don’t wanna be-“

“It wouldn’t be rude,” Vero interrupts smoothly. “I can let Matt and Bridget know you weren’t feeling well.”

“Are you gonna tell Marc-Andre?”

Vero stills. “Not if you don’t want me to,” she says softly. “But- I’m not saying he deserves to know, but.” She bites her lip. “He is your friend,” she says slowly. “You can trust him with this.”

Sidney closes his eyes. “I know.”

The door opens, and Tanger pokes his head out, grinning. “I found him!” He calls back inside. “Cozying up with your wife,” he teases, when Flower stumbles out.

Sidney starts to straighten up, and tries to pull away from Vero, but she tightens her grip on his shoulder. “He is stealing me away,” she tells her husband, mock-seriously. “We will be very happy together.”

“Do I get to keep Estelle?” Flower plays along, sitting on Sid’s other side. He curls his own arm around Sid’s shoulder. “Or will you leave me to die alone?”

Sid giggles a little, and Vero makes a happy noise, peppering little kisses over his face, making him giggle more. When Flower joins in, Sid releases a big bubble of a laugh and gives both of his friends kisses on their cheeks.

“Thank you,” he sighs. “I really- thanks.”

 _“Nous ferions n'importe quoi pour vous_ ,” Vero says. Sid can feel her reach behind him to grab hold of her husband’s shoulder, who mirrors the gesture.

“Now,” Flower says, “We can either stay out here in the cold and freeze while we talk about what had you moping, or-“  
Sidney tenses.

“Marc,” Vero warns.

“Or,” Flower emphasizes, “we could go inside, where it’s warm, and we can put off the talking until tomorrow. How’s that?”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Vero offers. “Sidney?”

Sidney just sits for a moment, thinking. He would have to tell Flower eventually; better to get it over with quickly, and be able to move on. He nods. “Tomorrow. And tonight-“

“We have fun!” Flower cheers, pulling Sid and Vero off the bench. “And get out of this fucking cold!”

“What,” Sidney teased, slinging his arm around Flower’s shoulders. “Your delicate Québécois bones can’t handle a little cold?”

“Delicate!” Flower squawks. “The only delicate bones in my body are these cheekbones!”

“Oh, your cheekbones, eh?” Sidney giggles.

Flower opens his his mouth, but before he can snark back Sidney has him bent over in a headlock, Vero laughing next to them.

“ _Oh mon chéri_ ,” Vero gasps. “ _Ton visage_!”

“ _Oui, oui, tout cela est très amusant_.” Flower grumbles, his hands hanging on to Sid’s forearm. “ _Pouvons-nous aller à l'intérieur maintenant, s'il vous plaît_?”

Sidney makes a show of turning around to face the yard, careful not to actually choke Flower, and breathes in deeply. “ _C’est tellement beau!_ ” He grins. “ _Êtes-vous sûr de vouloir aller à l'intérieur par un temps si beau_?”

 _Ha ha, enfoiré. Laissons au moins laisser ma femme et mon enfant à naître revenir_.”

Sidney drops his hold, surprised ( _"Merde, mec_ ,”), and faces Vero sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I even forgot- not, not that you’re big, I mean you’re obviously showing, that’s not-“

“Sidney,” Vero laughs.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” Sidney strangles out.

“Stop trying to seduce my wife, Crosby.” Flower dusts off the front of his suit, looking smug as Vero dusts off the back of his jacket and his ass. “You’ll never be able to compete with my beautiful looks anyway.”

“Of course not,” Sidney agrees, holding the door open. His grin widens when Vero winks at him as she passes by. “Besides, if we’re basing this off looks, I think Tanger has a better shot.”

Flower points his finger at Sid’s face, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even joke.”

“Hey Tanger,” Sid calls. “Flower doesn’t think you can seduce Vero away from him!”

Flower stomps off, probably to bully one of the boys into giving up their seat for Vero. Catherine hands a sleeping Alex to Sidney, raising her eyebrows.

“May I ask why my fiancé is peacocking Véronique?” She chuckles at Sid’s grimace, shakes her head before he can apologize. “It’s funny,” she says, looking over to where Kris is currently strutting across the living room, fluffing his hair. Sid blinks; there is definitely a resemblance to a male peacock. Catherine laughs. “It’s funny,” she repeats, holding eye contact. Sid nods, flushing, and buried his face in Alex’s soft hair.

“You know,” Catherine starts.

Sid looks over Alex’s head. “Yeah?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Never mind, sorry.”

Sidney turns his body to her, bouncing Alex in his arms when he makes a tiny noise. “No, really, what’s up?”

Catherine sighs. “It’s not- well.” She folds her arms over her chest. “It’s pretty, ah, personal.” She looks apologetic, but what she’s trying to apologize for, Sidney doesn’t know. 

“That’s fine,” he says. He smiles encouragingly. “I like to think that you’re my friend too, not just Kris.”

Catherine starts, and smiles blindingly. “Oh, Sidney,” she says warmly. “Of course you and I are friends.” She grimaces. “I’m still not sure this is something you’d want to hear.”

“Well,” Sidney says slowly. “If it’s something you think I should hear- or need to hear, then I’ll listen. Whatever it is.”

Catherine shoots him a grateful look. “You see,” she sighs, “We- a few of the ladies and I, and a few of the boys as well-" she stops. “You’re very good with him,” she says. “Alex,”

Sidney blinks. He looks down at the three-year-old in his arms. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He looks carefully back at Catherine. “Are you okay? Is-“ he breathes in sharply. “Is Kris okay? Is there something-“

“Sid, no, _mon cher_ , we’re both fine!” She huffs. “We’re worried about you.”

“Me?” Sidney pauses, takes stock of how his body feels- no more sore than usual. He looks back at Catherine, who seems- pitying?

“I’m just going to say this,” Catherine warns. “No beating around the bush.”

“Okay,” Sidney says, his heart racing.

“Catherine closes her eyes. “We think there might have been something- romantic- between you and Geno.”

“Oh,” Sidney says. “Um,”

“I’m really sorry,” Catherine says. “I didn’t- I wasn’t going to say anything, but then Rutherford traded him and we could all tell how you’ve been- not quite moping, but-“

“Right,” Sidney says. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, if he’s feeling anything at the moment. “Um,”

“Sidney, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend-“

“No, no, really, Catherine, that’s fine, I’m promise. I just-“ Sidney sighs. He might as well, since he’s telling the Fleurys tomorrow. “Geno called, earlier.” He said quietly. “To tell me he loves me.”

“Oh Sid,” Catherine bites her bottom lip, then pulls him in to a tight, one-armed hug. “Are you okay,” she whispers.

“I don’t know,” he whispers back. “I don’t know what to do.”

She kisses his cheek and lets him go. “Call him tomorrow, then call me, okay?”

“I’ll let you know,” he tells her, and kisses her cheek in return.

“Now he’s trying to steal _Tanger’s_ girl!” Someone shouts, and the house erupts into a mix of boos and catcalls. Catherine shakes with silent laughter, careful not to wake up Alex. Sid grins bashfully, first at Catherine, then at his boys. His phone buzzes again in his pocket; he doesn’t check who it is. He already know.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Geno’s perspective!

It’s been two hours since Evgeni bit the metaphorical bullet and finally admitted to Sid that he loved him. That he’s been in love with him. He went back inside for bit, after Sid hung up on him; ate some more food, drank some more champagne, played with the kids a little, and sulked by Bobrovsky and Tyutin for the last half hour so he didn’t have to try to translate and retranslate all the English being spoken and yelled. He’s about to go see if any of Janelle Foligno’s jam cookies had survived when Tyutin sighs loudly.

“Go call your captain again, I’m sick of your moping.”

Evgeni blinks at him. “Why would I be moping over Foligno?”

“He means Crosby,” Bobrovsky says. “And don’t deny that you’ve been moping; you’ve been doing it since October.”

“Pouting, more like,” Tyutin smirks.

Evgeni snaps his mouth shut. “I haven’t been pouting,” he whines.

Tyutin frowns. “You’re twenty-seven years old, Malkin, that’s not attractive.”

“Not that he wants to get with your ugly mug anyway,” Bobrovsky teases. “He’s too busy pining over Crosby.”

And it feels like Evgeni’s just fell into a hole of a frozen pond. His heart is racing with fear and his brain is filled with static. “What?”

Tyutin smacks the back of Bobrovsky’s head. “We agreed to let him take his time with telling us.” He hisses. “Look what you’ve done; he’s panicking!”

“I’m not panicking,” Evgeni says automatically. “Wait, you _knew_? How!”

Bobrovsky snorts. “You’re not subtle. Either of you.”

“It’s the entire league’s worst-kept secret,” Tyutin agrees. “Crosby and Malkin are disgustingly in love, don’t burst the bubble.”

“Who else-“ Evgeni swallows. “Does Putin-“

Tyutin raises an eyebrow. “If you haven’t been arrested by now, you’re probably safe.”

“Probably?!”

“Look,” Bobrovsky sighs. “As long you aren’t explicitly declaring your love or whatever on camera, Russia doesn’t give a fuck.”

Evgeni stares down at the empty punch cup he doesn’t remember acquiring. “We?”

“Hm?” Tyutin and Bobrovsky look at him, curious.

“You said ‘we’ weren’t subtle,” Evgeni says.

“May God help us all, if this is the future of hockey,” Tyutin mutters. “Yes, you and Crosby. I thought that was the whole reason you called him earlier, to grace him with your sweet voice?”

“I- I told him I love him.” Evgeni can’t meet their eyes. He knows they’re saying they’re fine with- with Evgeni’s feelings, but. He doesn’t know.

Bobrovsky raises his eyebrows. “That was your first time saying it? Oh, Evgeni,” he looks almost- disapproving? “You waited till now to tell him?” He clicks his tongue. “No wonder you’ve been moping- he must be really upset.”

Evgeni curls inward. Bobrovsky’s right- Sid is very upset. He should have told him sooner, but- he was a coward, there’s no other word for it. “He doesn’t think it- a relationship- is worth it.” He mutters.

Tyutin grunts indignantly. “He broke up with you? On New Year’s?”

“We were never even together,” Evgeni snaps defensively. “And I wouldn’t blame him even if we were.”

“You’re both fucking children,” Tyutin groans. “You have played together for nine years. You choose to wait until two months after you’ve been traded to confess your fucking feelings and he decides that after, again, nine. _Fucking_. Years. That now he doesn’t think a relationship is worth it?”

Evgeni crosses his arms and tries to become one with the wall. Tyutin opens his mouth, _probably to berate him more_ , Evgeni sulks, when Nick Foligno appears in front of them.

“Gentlemen!” He grins. “Can I borrow Evgeni for a moment? Yes? Wonderful! Come along, Evgeni, let’s go see if there’s anything to eat still.”

“Jam cookies?” Evgeni asks hopefully, pushing away from the wall to follow his new captain through the house.

Foligno throws his head back in laughter. “We can see if there’s any left, how ‘bout that?”

“Okay,” Evgeni smiles, the promise of Janelle’s cookies bolstering him through to the kitchen. “So, what you want to talk about?”

“The boys weren’t bothering you, were they?” Foligno asks casually, sitting Evgeni down at the island and sliding a plate of jam cookies in front of him. “Sergei And Fedor,” Foligno clarifies. “Things looked tense back there.”

“A little,” Evgeni admits, biting into a cookie. “But not way you’re thinking. Just…trying to help.”

“Help that involves almost shouting?” Foligno says dryly. He shakes his head. “No, sorry, that’s not-“ he sighs. “Is it anything that I, as your captain, can help with?”

Evgeni sets down his second cookie and sits up straight. “Maybe,” he says carefully. “Depends. On how you feel about uh.” He makes a face, thinking of the right word. He can’t remember the word, so he settles on the one that’s used a lot. “Gay?”

“Oh.” Foligno looks confused for a moment, then seems to get what Evgeni’s not saying. “Oh!” He nods, almost aggressively, like those little toys- bobble heads, Evgeni remembers. Foligno grins bashfully. “My, uh, my sister, Lisa? She’s actually bi. Um, bisexual.”

Evgeni tries to remember what that word means. ‘Sex’, obviously, he gets. And ‘bi’ means two, so-

“Basically,” Foligno says, seeing Evgeni’s train of thought, “it means she like both guys and girls.”

“Oh,” Evgeni says. He rolls the word around on his tongue: bi-sex-u-al. He nods decisively. “Good word,” he says softly. “For your sister, and for me.”

Foligno nods some more; Evgeni’s concerned that if he’s not careful, his head’s going to pop off. “Cool, yeah, that’s-“ he breathes in deeply. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For trusting me with this.”

Evgeni’s surprised by how genuine Foligno is- then immediately feels bad about it. He shrugs, smiling uncomfortably. “There is…more,” he says slowly. “Tyutin and Bobrovsky say league knows. About me and,” he makes a ‘c’ with his hand and taps it against his left shoulder. “You know?”

Foligno’s eyes soften. “Yeah,” he says. “I know. And long distance is hard, but believe me, it’s completely worth it. So anytime you want to talk, or complain, or whatever, I’m here, okay?”

“We’re not even together,” Evgeni bemoans. “Why does everyone think that? I only figured out how I felt for him over the summer and I just told him two fucking hours ago! And I still don’t know how he feels about me! Just that he doesn’t think a relationship between us is worth it anymore!”

“Um,” Foligno blinks. “Champagne must finally be catching up to you, because I understood, like, a quarter of that.”

Evgeni drops his head into his hands and groans. “ _Worst_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick Foligno does have a sister named Lisa! I don’t know if she’s actually bi, but as a bisexual myself all people are bi until proven otherwise.


	4. Part IV

Sidney wakes up to his alarm with only the hint of a headache and feeling like his stomach is trying to dissolve itself. Practice is optional today, but he needs to do something to distract himself until he’s ready to call Geno back. So he propels himself out of bed and into the bathroom, where he stares blankly at his reflection. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he sighs anyway, disappointed.  


He goes through his normal morning routine on autopilot: empty his bladder, wash his face, quick rinse of mouthwash; head downstairs to start the Keurig and get everything into the blender to have a protein shake done by the time he’s done cooking a three-egg omelet, four sausage links, and two slices of buttered, whole-grain toast. He eats breakfast carefully -not too fast so as to not upset his stomach- and drinks his coffee in-between bites.  


Sidney puts the radio on low on his way to the rink, drinking his protein shake absentmindedly, the drive basically second nature to him at this point. There was a good morning text from Geno when he got up, but he hasn’t responded yet. Even with the sun chasing away a bit of the cold this morning, and a clear, sober head, Sid is still holding on to some of the mix of righteous anger, shame, and humiliation from the night before; he wants to let Geno stew a little bit longer before he decides how to respond. He knows he’s acting like a petulant teenager, but since he never had this problem as a teenager, he feels like he’s- not entitled, but…allowed.  


He’s not the first one in, and he nods to Kessel on one of the stationary bikes, Murray at the stretching mats, and Maatta at the free weights. He won’t be surprised if the Sprong kid shows up soon, either, even the team is halfway through the regular season and he doesn’t have to try so hard to impress the vet players and the coaching staff anymore.  


Sidney sets himself up at the back near Murray and starts in on his warmups. He nods to guys as they come in, talks through his stretches with Sunshine and Kuhnhackl about line combinations, and manages to get away with a tight shoulder clasp and a look from Flower on his way to the barbells. He’s not quite ready to talk about why he was crying all over Vero last night, not during practice. They’ll grab lunch after cool-down, and Sidney will quietly relive one of the worst emotional experiences of his life.  


* * *

“So,” Flower starts, after their waitress has left with a chipper promise to “Be right back!” with their waters. “You want to start now, or when the appetizers get here?”  


“Might as well start now,” Sidney says, opening his menu, as if he doesn’t already know exactly what he wants.  


“Ripping of the band aid!” Flower agrees cheerfully, perusing his own menu.  


Sidney sees the waitress crossing the room and leans forward. “Geno called last night,” he says quickly, and leans back, smiling up at the girl- Alaina, her nametag reads. “Thanks,” he says, showing his teeth a little. Alaina blushes, smiling back, and asks if they want to order a starter or get right to the meal.  


“We’ll have two orders each of the street tacos, chicken, and the salmon wontons,” Flower says briskly, flashing her a charming, tooth-filled grin. “And we’d like some more time to choose our mains, please.”  


“Of course,” Alaina agrees. “Two orders of the chicken street tacos, and two more orders of the smoked salmon wontons, coming right up!” She pockets her notebook and spins on her heel, curled ponytail bouncing as she goes.  


Sidney sees Flower lean back in his seat, spreading his arms over the back of the bench. “So,” he says, watching Sidney carefully. “Judging by your red eyes and snotty nose last night, it wasn’t good?”  


“It’s complicated,” he says, messing with the arrangement of his silverware and water glass. “He, uh,” he glances up at Flower, then back down. “He said he loves me.”  


“That should be wonderful news,” Flower says slowly. “So why were you crying, and not celebrating?”  


“Because he waited until after he traded to tell me, and that’s the first time he’s talked to me since. He said he’s felt this way for a while, so he’s had plenty of time to say it, but.” Sidney drops his face into his hands. “The timing really sucks, and we only play each other four times in the regular season,” he says tiredly.

Flower stays quiet and neutral for a moment, then quietly curses Sidney’s entire bloodline in quick, harsh Quebecois. “Sid, I love you dearly, but you truly are a fucking _idiot_ sometimes.”

Sidney barely opens his mouth before Alaina swoops in, expertly transferring their starter plates from the tray on her arm to their table. “Hey, guys,” she says brightly. “Have you decided on your main dishes?” 

Flower folds his menu. “I will have the pork enchiladas and the house salad, and my friend here will have the grilled salmon and the grilled romaine salad, thank you.” 

Alaina doesn’t blink as she writes everything down. “Just the one of each?” She jokes, nodding to where both of them have started divvying up the four plates of starters. 

“Just the one of each, thanks,” Sidney confirms, already planning on giving at least a fifty percent tip. Alaina nods decisively, leaving their table with another bright grin, ponytail still just as bouncy.

“So,” Sidney says, laying his napkin over his lap and picking up a wonton with his fork. “Care to elaborate on why you think I’m being an idiot?” 

Flower makes him wait through a mouthful of a taco. “Because you’re acting like he’s halfway across the world when Columbus is only a three-hour drive.”

“It’s not like we’d have the _time_ , though,” Sid complains. “Both of us have tightly packed schedules, we can’t afford to spend six hours plus traffic on the road when we’d probably only get to spend like an hour in the same room.” 

“Good God, man, Skype exists for a damn reason.” 

Sidney deflates. He rubs his hands over his eyes, exhausted. “I guess I just-“ he sighs. “If he waited until now to tell me, is he really that serious?” 

“There it is,” Flower says quietly. “You’re not being pessimistic about making it work, you’re just worried if what he feels is really _real_.”

“I feel so dumb,” Sidney groans. “I’m almost thirty, why am I being such a fucking mess about this?” 

“Because you’re in love, and love makes you dumb.” Flower grins dopily. “Trust me, I’ve been in love half my life.” 

Sidney huffs out a small laugh. “Okay, Mr. Love Expert, what do you think I should do, then?” 

“Take a leap of faith,” Flower says, the corner of his mouth lifting up. “Trust is the most important part of a relationship. So, trust that Geno knows what he wants, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sid thumbs his phone open to the home screen, hovering over the green text app. “Okay.”


End file.
